


Our Fathers Are Snakes and Angels

by I_Need_a_Boat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale has been taking care of a baby his whole life and it's Crowley, Crowley has never seen a baby in his life, Except now he has to take care of two, Fluff and Humor, Ineffable Dads, M/M, Queen (Band) References, Taking a baby to eat fine cuisine at the Ritz, Wild Co-Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Need_a_Boat/pseuds/I_Need_a_Boat
Summary: Crowley felt something nag at him about the way Baby A smiled. And how he looked so small swaddled in the soft looking yellow blanket. The baby turned his eyes to rest on Crowley, and something guilty in him waved a white flag.“If it’s all the same to you sisters, I’m actually finding myself a bit-“Damn that angel.“-peckish.”In which Crowley comes into possession of some human offspring and enlists and angel to help pick up the rest.





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley had witnessed much in his 6000 years of life. Human offspring however, had little involvement with any of it. Human younglings had always seemed like a testy bargain in Crowley’s opinion. Loads of high pitched wailing and misery in exchange for Not Much (successful lineages and paternal wisdom blah blah blah). They needed to be fed or else they’d die, and they needed to be watered or else they’d die, and they basically needed a lot of other things in order to merely prevent them from dying.

With this in mind, Crowley could not decipher for the life of him why he stood parked in front of Baby A’s bassinet, glaring down at the creature with some form of cautious disinterest. The disposable baby. The ‘sorry about your luck, try again next time’ baby. The small wrinkled pink creature that stared at him with some odd sense of fascination, which Crowley was mildly paranoid of being fondness.

The bassinet the baby lay in was shabby at best, a rickety tub made of plastic on four wheels, quite un-befitting of the son of an American diplomat (though Crowley couldn’t tell you why that position was of such import). The offspring seemed quite unfazed by its newfound lack of living conditions, however Crowley suspected it would change its mind quite soon when it became hungry.

Crowley made a discomforted look at Baby A and tilted his head to translate his dislike. To his dismay, Baby A mirrored his action, and gurgled soundly. Crowley was quite worried the offspring was becoming attached, and made quick work to make sure the imp understood the sentiment was not mutual.

“I pity your state of affairs, but I can’t help you. I’m a demon. Not a charity,” Crowley explained, trying his best to convey his discomfort.

Obviously the tyke was a moron, because he responded with a gleeful, toothless smile and a series of cheerful gurgles. Crowley couldn’t tell you how affronted he was by the response.

“No!” Crowley spat incredulously. “You must understand that I have no time for whatever rubbish you’re trying to sell me. You hold absolutely no power over me at all.”

Baby A’s mouth made a small ‘o’, and stared at him, uncharacteristically quiet. He saw that as a win.

Crowley, now satisfied with the row he’d just had with the persistent monkey, began to saunter away, when the door to the nursery opened.

In tittered three nuns clad in their black gowns and pointed hats, not noticing the demon in the room. Crowley had always found their lot to be particularly delusional, because he couldn’t explain how anyone could be so infatuated with The Basement without lunacy being involved. And on the rare occasions that he accidentally happened to be mixed up with him, they always seemed crestfallen at his absent love for hell and carnage and awful things in general.

“-and such a strong little babe he was! Grasped my pinky finger for all but a moment but I swear he could’ve pulled it clean off!” One of the nuns quipped excitedly, a moony look in her eyes as she consorted with her companions.

Crowley shuddered. The Adversary could do more than pull their pinkies off in eleven years time.

“Yes indeed. But a shame about the extra. Poor little man.” Another nun cooed, jutting out her bottom lip as she gently smoothed out a curl on Baby A’s forehead. Baby A made a soft coo in response, smiling.

“Oh hush! He’s lucky! An offering to our dark master is necessary on such a momentous night! I bet he’ll be popular with all the babies downstairs. He’s got such pretty curls!”

Crowley knew he wouldn’t be popular with any of the babies downstairs because there weren’t actually any babies downstairs. Corporate couldn’t afford daycare services so if there was a baby, best just to eat it. A popular motto in hell was ‘give a man a baby and you feed him for a day, give him the keys to a nursery and you feed him for life’. One of hells more barbaric policies to say the least, and one Crowley distastefully avoided. One particular angel had introduced him to finer cuisines anyhow.

“I wonder how he’ll fair down below with no mummy or daddy. He’ll have to pull himself up by his own bootstraps if he wants to make it, that’s for sure!” The third nun tutted self-righteously, earning hums of agreement from her sisters.

Crowley glanced down at the infant, who gnawed at his tiny fist absently, a snot bubble protruding for his nose. Pull himself up by his own bootstraps indeed.

“Pardon the intrusion sisters, but how exactly do you plan on sacrificing the monkey?” The demon inquired in an unimpressed way, startling the three sisters as his presence was made known. They all exchanged prim looks with one another, straightening their postures as they prepared to speak to their mildly irritated superior. 

“Master Crowley what a welcome surprise to see you here after your delivery! Such an adorable little parcel wasn’t he?” Spoke one nun tartly, bolstered by the hums and nods of her sisters.

“Yes. The lord of darkness, prince of this world, deliverer of bloodshed and carnage was charming. But I was asking about that monkey there,” Crowley deadpanned, nodding his head to the sleep-muddled little creature.

“Oh! The disposable one. Well he’ll be primped and readied right up for the regular satanic sacrifice. Straight into the bonfire we’ll toss him, anything for our dark lord!” The responding nun cheered delightedly, an exuberant smile overtaking her face. The baby awoke and began looking quite excited with them.

Crowley felt something nag at him about the way Baby A smiled. And how he looked so small swaddled in the soft looking yellow blanket. The baby turned his eyes to rest on Crowley, and something guilty in him waved a white flag.

“If it’s all the same to you sisters, I’m actually finding myself a bit-“

_Damn that angel._

“-peckish. Of course any deed done for the cause of supporting Satan’s troops is equal to any other. I haven’t had a good meal in some twenty odd years. I’d put in a good word for you with the big man downstairs,” Crowley lied smoothly, watching the way the nuns faces lighted up joyously at the opportunity.

“Why master Crowley, you should have just said so! How rude of us not to have thought of that sooner. Would you like any seasoning perhaps to take with you? Salt? Pepper?”

And just like that, the demon Crowley was in sudden possession of a human babe that he was expected to eat, perhaps with salt or pepper. The nuns were quite conflicted when Crowley insisted he could simply carry the baby in the basket he’d brought with him to deliver the Adversary, instead of the takeout bag they’d offered him. However they refused to let him decline the paper plate, napkins, and the plastic fork and knife.

The three nuns waved to him on his way out, shouting pleasant things like, “enjoy your meal!” And, “bon appétit!” Crowley did his best to appear famished, and not nervous at all.

He threw open the backseat car door and with a gentler temperament laid the basket on the leather seat. Trying his best to mind the monkeys ears, he carefully shut the car door, then did the same as he got into the front seat.

“Oh hell,” Crowley muttered wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he realized there was a shitting, puking, crying time bomb located alarmingly close within his vicinity.

He tried vainly to reassure himself. Why should he be nervous? Just because he was now in possession of a small human infant, it should be no problem for him. Crowley was a demon, one of the most powerful supernatural beings in all of existence, present for the creation of the universe and one of the first creatures to ever be born. He wouldn’t be bested by some gurgling pink monkey.

it was then that the gurgling pink monkey began crying. His cries were softer than Crowley had imagined them to be, merely sad little bawls drifting from the basket in his backseat. But Crowley still had no inkling of how to deal with That Sort Of Thing, so he merely twisted the key in the ignition, and pulled out of the satanic convent.

“Everything alright back there?” Crowley inquired apprehensively to the backseats noisy new resident.

There was a soft wail in response. The demon hazards an unhappy look over his shoulder at the morose looking basket. Really, the whole situation was quite unfair. He’d done the offspring a marvelous favor! He didn’t deserve this sort of sass. Crowley could only identify that this sort of thing was not his department _at all_.

But Crowley thinks he knows someone who’s department it _is_.

Jerking the steering wheel left and throwing a half hearted apology over his shoulder to the basket that slid to the other side of the car, Crowley began to make a route towards London.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Aziraphale is Tragically Interrupted From Doing Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank everyone for all the lovely comments and kudos left!! They always inspire me to write more, and I love how kind everyone is on this website. From here on out my chapters should be getting progressively longer, I'm aiming to make it to at the very very bare minimum of 50,000 words by the time this is finished.

Aziraphale was _exactly_ in the mood for a spot of tea and some light reading. It had of course, like every single other day, been slow in terms of business at A.Z. Fell & Co., but the angel couldn’t say he’d enjoy anything different. The occasional muddled traveler would appear in his shop, actually looking for the public washrooms, would inquire if Aziraphale’s shop _was_ the public washroom, would search his store for the washroom, or would demand Aziraphale show them where the washroom was.

Aziraphale was settled into a perfect balance of boredom and contentedness that he couldn’t fathom any reason to leave his corner of Soho for the next coming century. Though he’d have to be on the lookout for iBooks, as he sensed the newfangled corporation would intent be running him out of business.

Despite the comfortable laziness he’d settled into, something uneasily had made its home in the pit of his stomach. There was something amiss in the air, like the smell of spoilt milk wafting into your living room from the kitchen. During times like these, Aziraphale could only sigh and brace himself for impact, because he had a tendency to be dragged into strange situations by one devil or another (it was really just one devil now that he thought about it).

So, deciding to enjoy what he knew would most likely be his final few moments of silence, Aziraphale sat down happily, nestled his mug into the crook of his desk, and picked up from where he left off in _Lord of the Flies_ (Quite a fantastic read, as Aziraphale was rereading it for only his forty seventh time).

To his distress, he hadn’t even made it two words in when there was a sudden, violent banging at his door. The banging continued for nearly seven seconds, meanwhile Aziraphale inhaled and exhaled unhappily through his nose, sending the door an unkind look.

“We’re closed!” The angel shouts in the direction of the door, hoping whatever rain drenched creature that stood outside would simply heed his words and scuttle off elsewhere. However that did not happen, and the doors burst open no less than three seconds after, a dramatic splattering of rain and wind blowing out the candles he had lit and drenching his floors.

Aziraphale gave an accosted squawk as he jumped up from his chair, quite ready to have a conniption.

The rain slick person that slid into his store was regrettably familiar, and stared glumly at him with yellow-slitted snake eyes as the doors slammed shut behind him. Aziraphale gandered that he must have been in quite a state to abandon his shades somewhere.

“Oh _really_ Crowley,” Aziraphale berated wearily, “you can’t just barge in here all willy nilly like- _what is that_?”

Aziraphale had come to notice the squirming thing wrapped haphazardly in Crowleys everyday blazer. Crowley scowled upon the inquiry, hazarding a cautious glance down at the bundle cradled carefully in his arms. Aziraphale took in the way he held the bundle, like whatever its contents were was very fragile, and very terrifying all the same.

“I don’t think I’m holding this thing right,” Crowley mumbled doubtfully, and Aziraphale noted the way his brow furrowed with concern as he tried to gingerly rearrange his bony limbs to make whatever he was holding more comfortable.

Taking cautious steps towards his demon counterpart, Aziraphale peered into the bundle of cloth, and made eye contact with a beautiful golden-haired child. Upon seeing Aziraphale, the baby squealed giddily, and the angel couldn’t stop the small, happy laugh that escaped him as he made fast friends with the infant. However Aziraphale dimly realized several things at once that were completely off kilter about the entire situation.

There was a baby in his bookshop at two in the morning, with absolutely _no_ happy new mother in sight that he was in needs of congratulating, and the baby was being cradled by a very under-qualified babysitter, as well as a long term resident of Satan’s Fiery Pit.

“Crowley, my dear boy, do forgive me but I have…” Aziraphale trailed off, noting the doting way the baby stared up at the demon, “… _questions_.”

“I have more. Like why did your boss have to make the humans so utterly _useless_ from the get go? Can’t even speak yet. Why can’t he speak?” Crowley snapped at Aziraphale, nonplussed at the baby’s very explainable inability.

“You’ve been living with the humans for 6000 years and you thought they could speak right from birth?” Aziraphale stammered incredulously.

“So they really can’t? I thought maybe he was just trying to be a bastard. I’m sorry I called you a bastard. You don’t know better. Does he know better? How morally developed are babies?”  
Aziraphale was beginning to see just how desperate the situation was. Or just how desperate Crowley was.  
“I’m…going to ignore that question for now. Bring him upstairs and we can- oh I don’t know. Figure out what we’ll do,” Aziraphale sputtered, enormously distressed.

“We?” Crowley echoed, and Aziraphale could trace the hopeful sound in his voice.

“Yes, of course we. I can’t just abandon you now, can I?” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley one of his gentler looks that he’d always reserved only for him. Crowley looked taken aback by his softness, his eyes dilating for the briefest of moments.

The scene was interrupted by an abrupt and cross-sounding gurgling, the baby’s way of saying, “ _stop mooning over one another for just a moment and feed me_ ”. Crowley scoffed and shuffled, and Aziraphale did the same, tearing himself away from the interaction. Aziraphale cursed his own tendency to get sentimental.

“Would you mind actually, er, holding it? I’m afraid I’ll drop it or something,” Crowley asked anxiously, tightening his grip slightly (just in case).

Aziraphale couldn’t say he wasn’t jumping at the chance. He’d always had a small soft spot for human newborns, though he rarely saw any. He’d put in a good word for them with God while she’d been pondering their existence, pointing out the positive quality of their adorable small noses and such. Gabriel had counter-argued that babies were too wrinkly and their small noses were in fact, quite ugly. Aziraphale had always felt quite cross about the farce.  
“Yes! Of course!” Aziraphale insisted, trying not to sound too giddy at the prospect. Crowley didn’t even look slightly fooled, passing his counterpart an amused glance as he gently parted with the baby.

The newborn was an interesting new weight in his arms, and the baby looked as enraptured by Aziraphale as Aziraphale was with him.

“Oh my, he’s- well he is _quite_ lovely isn’t he?” The angel cooed, quite charmed by how the baby instantly swatted at his face with a chubby fist the size of a clementine. “My dear,” Aziraphale didn’t notice how Crowley flinched at the pet name, “why is he wrapped in your blazer, if you don’t mind my asking?” He asked curiously, casting a short look at the demon before instantly becoming enraptured with the small infant once again.  
“Shat in the blanket they had him in. Shat in my car. They didn’t really see fit to give it any diapers I guess, since he was supposed to be, well, dinner,” Crowley supposed distastefully, rubbing the back of his neck absently as he imagined the prospect.

“ _Dinner_?” Aziraphale squawked indignantly.

“Come on angel, I’ll give you the full rundown as soon as I’m not standing anymore, it smells musty down here anyhow” Crowley sighed lazily, ushering his companion through his shop and up the shoddy stairs to the apartment.

Baby A looked innocently between the two figures, chewing on his fist absently, and feeling quite content with how his dads looked at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley and the baby have a meaningful conversation, and Aziraphale definitely doesn't rear end the Bentley into a bike rack.

The flat above Aziraphales bookshop was very similar to Aziraphale himself. Soft, clad mostly in comforting tan colors, and very dorkish, in an endearing manner of speaking. Remembering heaven, Crowley could see why Aziraphale had taken to such soft, simple furniture, riddled around the flat in such a way that the atmosphere took on a warm, comforting nature.

Heaven had been quite sterile last he’d been there, and Crowley couldn’t imagine it’d changed much. He recalled near-blinding whites that made you want to squint everywhere you looked, and long, echoey, never-ending halls. His memory of heaven wasn’t a fond one, but it was damn near shiny when compared to hells current condition. Too many damn bodies squeezed into one tight hall, all aimlessly shuffling towards nothing.

Of course Aziraphale would try to forget the sterile atmosphere of heaven and make something better while on earth. Upon meeting him, Crowley had known he was a strange creature, it was why he’d made damn sure he ran into him at least once every century. He’d always thought of pointing out to him how similar they both were, putting their superiors to the side to understand the inner-workings of earth and humans, but was afraid at the prospect of Aziraphale taking that offensively. He could never even fathom another angel doing anything remotely comparable to what Aziraphale did.

Crowley had always been distantly fond of Aziraphales place. Just as something he’d always be able to see, but never really touch.

As Aziraphale made his way inside, Crowley sauntered in slowly behind him, taking his time to absorb all the changes that had been made the last he’d been to the flat. There hadn’t been many at all, but Crowley couldn’t say he was surprised. He’d always been a sentimental creature.

Soft, plush, tan sofas surrounded a stained and very much loved hickory coffee table, plopped in front of a TV almost twenty years old, and probably used all of once upon purchase. Somehow bookshelves still managed to make their appearance from within the flat, despite the entire collection downstairs, spilling out copies of any original classic that you could name. There was a small, homely kitchen to the left of the flat, kept very clean, with fresh fruits and vegetables out and at the ready should Aziraphale decide he wanted to take a venture into cooking. The carpet beneath their feet looked soft enough to sleep on, and Crowley ventured, maybe for a baby to sleep on.

Crowley could only note that he needed some house plants.

“Well, we’ll most certainly have to make a trip to the store as soon as it opens tomorrow. Diapers are a must have! I must say I’m surprised he hasn’t had an accident in your blazer,” Aziraphale commented pleasantly, then tacked on a hasty, “yet.”

“If he shits in my blazer, buggers buying me a new blazer,” Crowley growls threateningly, eyeing the baby with some warning. Baby A smiles and giggles at the threat, and Crowley huffs, defeated by the monkey once again.

“Of course Crowley, the _orphan_ will buy you a new blazer,” Aziraphale deadpans, “I am assuming our new friend is an orphan? Otherwise I am considerably concerned for the new parents.”

“I suppose you could say he’s an orphan. Theoretically,” Crowley mutters, eyeing how Aziraphale gives him a quizzical look. “I have some very, very bad news,” Crowley states lowly, his face darkening. Aziraphale blinks slowly in response, his grip absently tightening around the baby.

“I delivered the antichrist tonight. Armageddon is in process.”

A thick silence settled over the room, and the atmosphere of the flat no longer felt cozy. The baby suddenly felt cold in Aziraphales arms, and Aziraphale was considerably less charmed when the baby swatted at his face.

“Crowley, you aren’t telling me that I’m…that I’m holding the-“

“No! God no. You think I’d let the Eater of Souls anywhere in your vicinity? I’m not bloody Satan, I couldn’t do that to you,” Crowley said, alarmed at the prospect. He didn’t want to imagine what the antichrist would do to someone as pure as Aziraphale.

Crowley, for the last seven hundred years, had been redirecting his hellish colleagues as far away from Aziraphale as he could, without Aziraphale, or his colleagues knowing. It wasn’t that Crowley thought that the angel couldn’t handle himself, he knew that he’d always downplayed how powerful he was. But Crowley wanted to spare him the inconvenience, as well as prevent his own reputation from tanking upon meet some of his fellow demon associates. They weren’t nearly as gallant as he was, and they were leagues more violent. They’d take everything kind and beautiful about Aziraphale and use it as a weapon. Crowley was intent on never letting that happen. 

“Oh thank heavens, I was nearly about to drop this baby out a window,” Aziraphale said, sounding very un-convincing as he gazed softly down at the small babe in his arms. Crowley snorted, running a hand absently through his near shoulder-length orange hair.

“Oh no you weren’t. Don’t even pretend. Being morbid is my lot, angel,” He said, arching an eyebrow at his companion, who merely smiled warmly at him in response. But upon turning his attention back down to the baby, his smile slowly wilted.

“Armageddon. Already upon us?” Aziraphale says quietly to himself. He gazes down at the child, suddenly looking very very sad. Crowley understood where his mind was at.  
The child wouldn’t get to live for very long. Crowley was about to suggest they could do something about Armageddon to perhaps lengthen that lifetime, but suddenly he straightened.

“All according to the Great Plan, I suppose. Though I’ll admit I’m…quite fond of how far earth has come,” Aziraphale lamented, trying his best to sound cheery.

Crowley stewed. He just needed to find a way to fix this. Satan would do thousands of years worth of pain to him for even lifting a finger to try, but Crowley couldn’t say he gave much of a shit what the red bastard would do. Anything was better than sitting in a dimly lit room with Hastur and Ligur for eternity. And being put in a tank of holy water was better than the crestfallen look on Aziraphales face.

“Well I supposed I should hand him back to you for a moment. I’ll need to find something our friend can eat. I must say, I’m actually quite rusty on infant care!” Aziraphale tutted disappointedly, as if it was his duty to be up to speed on modern childcare protocols.

Crowley tried not to squirm as Aziraphale passed the small monkey back to him, leaning in quite close to him to ensure the baby’s neck was supported and that he was secure in his arms. Crowley had a hard time fixing his attention back on the baby when Aziraphale was standing this close, but he really did try.

Aziraphales touch was unfairly tender as he helped Crowley adjust his arms to hold the baby easier, and came to rest at a standstill on his elbows as he stared down lovingly at the babe. Crowley swallowed down a lump in his throat, and damned the heat that was crawling up his neck.

“What a sweet thing. Really, I’m sure babies are normally much, _much_ fussier than he is,” Aziraphale expressed warmly, smoothing out a curl on the side of the infants face, and running a gentle hand over his forehead. Crowley felt something fierce pull at his heart when he watched the baby sneeze, and he knew he was in deep.

“Well, I’m going to run to the nearest open corner shop, though I’ll be quite shocked if any are open. Do you think you’ll be alright here without me?” Aziraphale cautioned doubtfully, causing Crowley to flush with embarrassment.

“I got him here by myself in one piece didn’t I? I can handle some stupid monkey for an hour,” Crowley snapped defensively.

Crowley couldn’t handle some stupid monkey for an hour. He’d spent half an hour in the car almost shouting, asking the bastard what his name was, and demanding to know why he was giving him the silent treatment, all while blasting Best of Queen and going 120 miles per hour. But Aziraphale definitely didn’t need to know that.

“Well, if you insist, Crowley, I’ll just have to trust you! I’ll be back in a flash. If you need anything, give a shout,” Aziraphale said promptly, giving Crowley a small, discreet wink.

“Just- here. Take the car. It’s raining out, and I’ll feel like a right bastard if you run around Soho sopping wet all night,” Crowley grumbled irritably, pressing the keys into Aziraphale’s hand with his free arm.

Aziraphale stared dumbfounded down at the carved pieces of metal.

“You’re- you’re trusting me with _your car_?” Aziraphale said, as though he didn’t quite believe it, and almost like he was touched at the prospect.

“Yes, you doorknob, I’m trusting you with my car. With that in mind, should anything happen to it, I think the corner sushi place should inconveniently go up in flames. Along with a lot of other fine food establishments. And also you. You will go up in flames,” Crowley told him blankly, as though his words weren’t a trifle terrifying.

“Oh heavens,” Aziraphale said breathily, suddenly quite nervous.

“Good luck out there. Roads are quite… _slippery_ ,” Crowley said, sounding quite devious in Aziraphales opinion.

“Oh, hush up. Don’t drop the baby while I’m out,” Aziraphale bit out, pulling his scarf off of the coat rack by the door and wrapping it around his neck a tad angrily. Crowley felt the corners of his lips pull up in the small triumph.

He couldn’t help but think that Aziraphale looked rightly adorable in the scarf. Crowley damned the thought as soon as it came.

“Happy scavenging,” Crowley threw over his shoulder as he made his way towards the couches, earning a disgruntled mumble in response.

The door opened and closed gently, Aziraphales way of letting Crowley know he wasn’t actually mad. The barest of smiles took over Crowleys face at the action. He then glanced down at the baby, who stared up at him with a look as if to say ‘ _you aren’t fooling anyone you idiot_ ’.

“Shut up,” Crowley muttered embarrassedly, refusing to look back down at the babe.

The small moron gurgled tauntingly, and Crowley quite nearly considered punting him into a rain cloud.

__________________________

Aziraphale had absolutely, positively, and utterly no idea how to drive a car. The notion became very clear when he finally found the ignition after looking for nearly five minutes.

“Oh lord, give me strength,” Aziraphale said woefully, feeling absolutely dreadful about the next coming minutes.

The Bentley hummed to life reluctantly as the key turned in the ignition, knowing full well the consequences of having done such. Hoping frivolously that perhaps its more frequent occupant would choose a safer driver next time, the car pulled out into the street, but only after having jolted and stopped on its way out eight times.

__________________________

“So. Name. Got one?”

The offspring gurgled doubtfully in response.

“Yes, I know that, but you’ve gotta have one. I can’t just keep calling you shit monkey, now can I?”

Another series of gurgles followed by the baby’s first burp was proclaimed, and Crowley groaned irritably in response.  
Crowley had done what he imagined most parents did upon bringing a newborn home. Threw a bunch of pillows into a pile on the floor, and set the baby on top. Really, he couldn’t see what was so difficult about parenting. Tyke was having an absolute blast.

“How about Freddie? I’ve been listening to too much damn Queen,” Crowley muttered fruitlessly from his spot laying down on the floor next to possibly-Freddie. Crowley glanced over at the baby to gauge his reaction. He didn’t seem opposed to the name, but also not quite fond of it. Also there was snot running down his face.

“That’s disgusting. Babies are disgusting. Why do people make you?” Crowley asked, making a sour face at possibly-Freddie. Possibly-Freddie made a cooing sound in response, as if saying, ‘ _great question dipshit_ ’.

Crowley couldn’t say he was a fan of the sass, but he supposes some of his own must have already rubbed off on the baby, so it was hardly his fault.

“Aziraphale is a stellar name, but unfortunately it’s already taken by someone else. How about…er…Nico? Fuck, that’s Velvet Underground again isn’t it,” Crowley said disappointedly. The babe next to him squawked loudly, earning a startled look from Crowley in the process. Possibly-Nico was waving his arms wildly in the air like helicopter wings, though Crowley couldn’t possibly understand why.

“Do you- do you like Nico? Is that it? What are you doing with your arms?” Crowley asked him suspiciously.

Crowley sat up and reached over to pick up and examine the monkey for some sort of malfunction, but before he could, the baby stopped him short by wrapping one chubby fist around Crowleys right index finger. It was then that Crowley noticed that the baby had enormously blue eyes, and they were only the second pair of eyes to stare at him with any open affection in his entire life.

“Whatever you think you’re doing it won’t work. I won’t fall for this,” Crowley warned softly. The small creature closed its eyes and let out a soft exhale in response, and Crowley fell for it.

“Nico it is,” Crowley said tenderly, pulling the baby close into his arms.

__________________________

Aziraphale had made an enormous mistake that could possibly cost him the sushi restaurant down the street.

But baby formula had been scored. And miracles had been performed.

The Bentley could confirm that it was not enjoying this new Frankenstein-brought-back-from-the-dead lifestyle.

__________________________

Aziraphale let himself back into the flat, trying his best to look very innocent and absolutely not guilty in the slightest. However the expression fell entirely flat when he entered the room to Crowley holding the baby upside down, no longer wrapped in the blazer. Dropping the grocery bags and scuttling over, Aziraphale snatched the baby back into his arms, not noticing that the infant was giggling like he’d been on a wonderful roller coaster ride.

“I can’t even leave you for twenty minutes! Where did your blazer go?” Aziraphale snapped haughtily, eyes darting around the room. Crowley sniffed imperiously, obviously annoyed.

“Nico shat in it. I was punishing him. Not that it worked anyway, moron was laughing it up like he was on a merry go round,” He grunted dolefully, crossing his arms and glaring at the cheerful babe, who was currently drooling onto Aziraphale’s coat.

“Nico?” Aziraphale queried, testing the word out on his tongue. Almost as if responding, the baby cheered, and reached both hands up to touch Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale smiled affectionately, his eyes turning very soft as he leaned his face into the small touch. “Ah, well, it suits him very nicely. _Nico_. Very sweet of you to name him, Crowley,” Aziraphale said liltingly, taking pride in the scowl he earned in response.

“ _Shut up_. I was just getting tired of calling him turd goblin,” Crowley leered apathetically, though Aziraphale wasn’t fooled.

“Ah yes well…I hate to break up a fond moment but,” Aziraphale paused, finding it difficult to phrase his next words, “normally one doesn’t _name_ things unless they intend to keep them, do they?”

Crowley looked taken aback, as though he’d received a crisp slap from reality. As though he hadn’t even considered the option of parting with the child.

“I- well no I suppose not. That is sort of a bummer isn’t it?” Crowley muttered despondently. Aziraphale found himself to be quite bothered whenever Crowley got sad around him, and always jumped to the nearest source of happiness that could lift him.

“We could always- oh I don’t know- keep him?” Aziraphale suggested reluctantly, watching how Crowleys expression shifted. He gazed at the angel, openly hopeful, something Aziraphale hadn’t seen him do before now. His eyes had always held particular interest in Aziraphales mind, but he’d always dubbed himself quite silly for it. And he still tried to pass it off as a silly misconception when he saw Crowley’s slatted pupils dilate slightly whenever he looked at Aziraphale.

“How could we? Neither of our sides would be very happy at us…fraternizing,” Crowley chose the word carefully, and Aziraphale cringed inwardly, “You could get in very deep trouble. I don’t want you to get yourself entangled because I seem overly-attached. Whatever hells punishment would be, I’m sure that heavens would be at least one thousand times more _boring_.”

“Well, what if we weren’t just…fraternizing. Some could consider what we’re doing to be, Gods, or well, in your case, _Satans_ work.”

“You’re going to have to explain a little more, angel.”

“It’s in your job description to tempt souls into more hellish pursuits and secure them for your dark lord. It’s in mine to do the exact opposite. Really, parenting is all about influencing your children to do the right or wrong thing,” Aziraphale offered lightly, giving a suggestive look in Crowley’s direction. For someone so clever, Crowley seemed very slow on the uptake.

“So, what you’re suggesting is we take turns convincing him to be a good or bad person, and passing it off as a work project to anyone who asks?” Crowley wrinkles his nose, considering the proposition.

“In Layman’s terms, yes. I suppose that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

Crowley smiled something fierce when Aziraphale said that, and Aziraphale had the ambition to give him the same smile back.

“Angel, I do _love_ it when we’re in cahoots with one another,” Crowley said wickedly, earning a prudent smile from his counterpart.

“Oh please, you just love thinking you’ve tempted me into some mischievous scheme. We’re co-parenting, not sneaking across the channel for Crepes,” Aziraphale huffed fondly, dropping into the spot next to Crowley on the couch. Nicos eyes had begun to droop slowly, losing their energetic glint.

Nico had encountered a very eventful first day alive, though he couldn’t complain.  
“Remember Paris?” Crowley inquired nostalgically.

“All too well, my dear boy. We ought to go again soon. The boys going to grow up tasting very fine food. I wonder if he’ll cook for _us_ someday, wouldn’t that be _lovely_ Crowley?”

“Yes angel. Someday I’m sure he’ll cook for us,” Crowley said, feeling a tad bit sluggish himself. Beside him, Aziraphale yawned, and stroked a hand down the side of their baby’s head.

Nico snuggled closer into the crook of Aziraphales arm. Each and every person in the room was very loved, and very cared for.


End file.
